


wishing never solved a thing

by orphan_account



Series: charlie will make cd a common tag if it kills them [6]
Category: The Crafting Dead
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Implied/Referenced Character Death, M/M, Miscarriage
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-16
Updated: 2018-07-16
Packaged: 2019-06-11 16:02:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15319101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Nick needed to find Ghetto. Right now.





	wishing never solved a thing

**Author's Note:**

> im a monster.  
> winter is coming - radical face

Nick needed to find Ghetto. Right now.

The wound in his shoulder hurt like hell, the stitches threatening to rip apart under the strain of Nick forcing on a proper pair of clothes—he was getting tired of the light t-shirt and shorts he’d been wear while bedridden, and they weren’t the best thing to wear to a serious conversation—and prowling down the corridors of the CDC for what seemed like hours on end. In reality, Nick knew it had only been a few minutes, but it sure as hell felt like  _days_.

He knew he’d get hell from Xavier for this, but it needed to be done. It needed to be fucking done. Nick felt like throwing up.

Truth be told, he didn’t know what triggered it. Whether it was just the progression of time unearthing his memories, the trauma of being shot, being reunited with old friends, he didn’t know. Nick wondered if he would ever know what caused it. Probably not.

But the memories that came with it, _fuck_ , the memories. Shelby, his sister, his twin sister from the same mister who had always had his back, through thick and thin; Sky, the annoying-est big brother-est asshole around, who was dead and gone in the ground; the memory of a small three-month-old wrapped in his arms, hidden away from the cold and snow…

He would’ve been eight. A small eight-year-old running around the CDC, getting tangled up in the legs of adults, eyes sad but soul so full of life. Nick would’ve killed to keep his son, to keep Jordan safe in that life, making sure he was never gone out on raids and the such for too long.  In that life, that perfect,  _wonderful_ life Nick’s brain had conjured up for him he and his son were safe. In that life, Ghetto wouldn’t tear himself apart from the guilt of letting a child die.

(His son too. He was the father, the baby daddy, of course, he’d be in that life. Happy as he could be with his child alive and safe and not in parts and pieces.)

But...there was another. In that life, along with Jordan, there would be another. A small girl of only a few months old, being carted around by her family and being the light of their lives. Jordan would love her, of course, he’d always taken a shine to other people oh so quickly. With Ghetto’s hair and eyes, Nick’s warm skin and a button nose to wrap it all up. In another life, the CDC would be filled with life and happiness. In another life, his daughter wouldn’t have been ripped from life early.

Nick knew why it happened. He knew how, why, when, and where it all happened—how couldn’t he? The incident was ingrained into his head, replaying over and over in his mind when he laid alone at night, at his most vulnerable.

It happened at Barney’s cabin. A night alone that had led to some...unseen consequences.

He had been terrified when he found out. Why wouldn’t he? Nick was the leader of the group, the person to help them through thick and thin, he wasn’t supposed to make a mistake like this! Fear and shame had led him to keep the information to himself, not telling a single soul about his condition. He would tell them one day, Nick knew that for sure. One day, they would know; he couldn’t keep something like this a secret forever.

Until a few days after the White House exploded, when he woke up to horrible cramps, blood and a deep emptiness embedded in his heart and Nick knew it was over. He was only three months in.

(The more he thought about it, the more it seemed like a cruel trick. Giving away his first baby at three months, and losing his second at three months.)

A few minutes later, Nick found a door creaked open ever so slightly, and inside, Ghetto on the edge of his bed, staring at the floor with a numb look in his eyes. After raising his head to meet Nick’s eyes, he barely had to open up his arms before Nick had thrown himself into them, choked sobs rising in his throat.

His thoughts of having a serious conversation like an actual adult were soon wiped from his mind, being replaced with the feeling of Ghetto’s arms around him and his head buried in Nick’s shoulder. Ghetto was shaking nearly as hard as Nick was, letting himself be vulnerable in a way Nick had never seen before. He had always been the “tough” one, to let his feelings out in acts of anger or defiance, never like this. Nick couldn’t stand it, stand the way the room was oh, so quiet, the only noise being his own soft sobs. He couldn’t.

Nick’s pained screams could be heard all around the CDC that night.


End file.
